


Truce

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drown Malcolm Reed Month, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-30
Updated: 2007-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm's day off doesn't go as planned.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This story has been sitting on my hard drive for over a year. Since I haven't had much time to write new stuff lately, I decided to dust it off and post it for National Drown Malcolm Reed Month.  
  
Beta Readers: Special thanks to GroovyGoddess and Shi Shi. Their comments and suggestions helped make this a much better story. Any mistakes that remain are my fault.   


* * *

"No real friendship is ever made without an initial clashing which discloses the metal of each to each" 

\-- David Grayson, 'Adventures in Contentment'

 

"Please, Malcolm," Jon said. "I'd do it myself, but these negotiations are taking a lot longer than I thought they would. It doesn't have to be for the whole day. Just go down to the surface with him for an hour or two. It would mean the world to him." 

Malcolm hated it when his lover begged. It made him so hard to resist. But this time it was *not* going to work. 

"Why don't you ask Hoshi?" Or any of the other eighty-one people on board the ship, Malcolm added silently. "I'm sure she'd be delighted to keep him company." 

"I'm going to need Hoshi with me," Jon countered. "The universal translator is still having trouble dealing with the Akathi verb tenses."

Malcolm made a vague noise in the back of his throat. 

"Come on," Jon cajoled, "just the other day you were complaining about how boring things were down in the armory." 

Malcolm tried to dredge up a valid-sounding excuse to get out of this particular duty. He didn't want to spend his day off babysitting another member of the crew - especially not *that* one. 

He sighed inwardly. He had known from the very beginning that having a relationship with a starship captain would be difficult, that Jon's attention would always be divided between him and the ship. But he hadn't counted on having to share Jon's affection as well. 

Malcolm hated the knot of jealousy that twisted in his gut every time he saw the two of them together. He did his best to suppress it. After all, they were best friends and had known each other for a long time - well before he had come into the picture. Still, Malcolm found it hard not to feel resentful when Jon seemed to put his best friend's feelings before those of his lover. 

"Please?" Jon said again. "I promised him that we'd go down to the planet today." 

"He's not a child, Jonathan," Malcolm said, exasperation coloring his voice. "I'm sure he won't mind if you break your promise just this once."

"Maybe not, but I will. He hasn't had a chance to get off the ship in months. You'll have fun. Besides, it will give the two of you a chance to bond." 

"He doesn't want to bond with me," Malcolm sulked. He crossed his arms over his chest in an unconscious defensive gesture. "He doesn't like me." 

"Nonsense!" Jon said heartily. "Porthos loves everyone, don't you, Porthos?" 

The small dog sitting in the corner of the room cocked his head and let out a bark at the sound of his name. 

Malcolm sighed. He knew that trying to persuade Jon to the contrary was an impossible task. Jon seemed to believe that since he loved both Malcolm and Porthos, that Malcolm and Porthos would naturally love each other. 

Malcolm found this belief both charmingly naive and incredibly irritating. The fact of the matter was that he did not care much for dogs. And it was perfectly clear that Porthos did not care much for him. 

As far as Malcolm was concerned, Porthos had declared all-out war on him from the first night he had spent in Jon's quarters. He had woken in the morning to find that Porthos had turned one of his boots into a slimy pile of regurgitated leather and rubber bits. Not only that, but the disgusting little canine had pulled his uniform off of the chair it had been neatly hung over and peed on it. 

Jon had laughingly apologized for his dog's behavior, but hadn't done anything to try to modify it. Malcolm had quickly learned to put his belongings well out of Porthos' reach. 

Warm arms slid around him, pulling him back to the problem at hand. 

"I'll make it worth your while," Jon's breath was hot against his ear. The whispered promise sent a bolt of pure desire through Malcolm's groin. Jon was pulling out the big guns now and he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. 

"I'm going to hold you to that," he said with a sigh of resignation.

"So you'll do it?" Jon's hands stroked over Malcolm's chest. 

"Yes," Malcolm said. He let out a soft groan of pleasure as one of Jon's hands drifted southward. "I'll do it. But I want my reward up front."

"No problem," Jon said as he slowly maneuvered Malcolm over to the bed. 

Across the room, Porthos growled softly. 

***

Three hours later Malcolm stood at the entrance to the Northern U'baka Wildlife Preserve and Park. He already regretted giving in to Jon's request. 

Porthos hadn't been off the ship in a while and wasn't at all interested in obeying the irritated armory officer's commands to sit or heel. Instead, he was darting around excitedly, wrapping the long yellow nylon lead around himself, various trees and bushes, and Malcolm's legs. The ensuing tangle toppled Malcolm down onto the damp ground as Porthos lunged wildly at a furry squirrel-like creature. 

"Porthos! Stop that!" Malcolm shouted as he untangled the lead from around his legs and climbed to his feet. He brushed ineffectively at the mud that streaked the seat of his uniform. "If you don't settle down right now I'm going to use you for target practice." 

Porthos just continued to bark and bolted off toward the tree the squirrel-creature had run to for refuge. He made a harsh raspy sound as the slack ran out of the lead and his collar yanked tight against his neck. 

"Enough," Malcolm snarled as he started to reel the dog in. 

Porthos growled back and resisted the tug of the lead, digging all four paws into the damp ground. 

Malcolm pulled harder. "Come here," he said through gritted teeth. He was taken completely off guard when the dog decided to obey the command, and fell backward when the counterforce of Porthos' pull suddenly disappeared. Mud squished wetly as he hit the ground. 

Porthos looked up at Malcolm, his tongue lolling out of his mouth in a canine smirk of delight. 

Thoughts of black bloody murder filled Malcolm's mind, but before he could act on any of them, the door to the nearby visitor's center banged open and a group of Akathi adults and children trooped out. 

Malcolm tightened his grip on Porthos' lead and plastered a vague, non-threatening smile on his face. 

The children gave him wide-eyed stares as they passed. The smallest child tugged on one of the adult's sleeves and asked in a loud piping voice, "FaPa, why is that funny man sitting in the mud? Is he a crazy person?" 

The adult glanced disinterestedly at Malcolm before turning his attention back to the child. "Now, now, Meena, we shouldn't judge him too harshly. He's an alien, and they often have customs that we find strange and unusual. Perhaps he enjoys sitting in the mud." 

Malcolm sighed and watched as the family passed under the entrance arch and disappeared into the parking lot. He wanted nothing more than to return to his tidy, dog-free quarters and have a nice long hot shower. But he had made a promise to Jon and he refused break it. 

"Crazy person sums it up rather nicely, I think," he muttered to himself. "Why I let Jon manipulate me into this..." He sighed again and shook his head.

The cold moisture from the ground had soaked into his uniform and his underwear was starting to ride up in a rather unpleasant fashion. He stood and made a few adjustments to his mud-streaked clothing, tugging the offending garments back into place as best he could without having to strip down in the middle of an alien park. Then he leaned down and calmly scooped Porthos up, tucking the dog firmly under his arm. 

Porthos' legs flailed as he tried to free himself from the hold. 

Malcolm tightened his grip on the squirming animal. "Piss on me and it will be the last thing you ever do," he threatened as he climbed the stairs to the visitor's center. 

He wiped his boots as best he could on the fibrous mat provided, but he still tracked muddy footprints across the varnished wood floor. 

The park ranger eyed them suspiciously as they approached the desk. 

Malcolm placed Porthos on the floor and wrapped the lead tightly around his wrist to prevent the dog from running around. "Sit," he said. 

Porthos ignored him.

The ranger's lips settled into a thin disapproving line. "Your non-sentient companion animal must remain leashed and restrained at all times," he said. "Failure to do so will result in punitive fees." 

"He's not mine," Malcolm said under his breath. 

The ranger ignored the comment. "The entrance fee is thirty krysla," he said as he handed Malcolm a glossy paper pamphlet. 

Malcolm glanced briefly at the colorful pictures on the front and then looked at the ranger questioningly. 

"The brochure outlines all the Park rules and regulations," the ranger explained. "Please make sure you read and understand them before entering the Preserve." 

"I'm afraid I don't know how to read your language." Malcolm felt a blush of embarrassment creep across his face. He wasn't used to being illiterate. 

"Tourists," the ranger muttered, making the word sound like a curse. He snatched the brochure from Malcolm's hand and began rattling off a long list of 'dos' and 'don'ts'. 

"Park rules must be observed at all times. These rules are in place for the safety of our visitors as well as for the protection of the Park's wildlife and environment. All visitors must stay on the designated trails. Failure to do so will result in punitive fees. The trails are open to foot traffic only. Riding animals and motorized vehicles of any kind are not permitted on Park trails. The use of riding animals or motorized vehicles on Park trails will result in punitive fees. 

"We strive to maintain a clean environment for the enjoyment of all of our visitors and for the safety of the wildlife. All trash must be disposed of in the official waste receptacles provided along the trails. Failure to do so will result in punitive fees. 

"The collection of biological, geological or archaeological specimens is not permitted at any time. Doing so will result in punitive fees. 

"All visitors should maintain their distance from the wildlife. Disturbing, enticing, or feeding the wildlife will result in punitive fees. 

"Swimming and boating are not permitted in the lakes, streams, or other waterways without obtaining prior permission via submission of form 286-XP in triplicate at least four weeks prior to the desired date of the water activity. Actual approval of these requests is extremely limited. Swimming or boating without a permit will result in punitive fees." The ranger paused to take a deep breath before continuing.

"Hunting and fishing are strictly prohibited at all times and doing so will result in punitive fees. 

"Overnight camping is permitted only in the designated camping sites and campfires are allowed only in designated fire pits. Visitors wishing to camp overnight must obtain prior permission at least thirty-seven hours in advance via submission of form 450-SP. A fee of one hundred and fifty-six krysla is required for each site and must be paid in advance. 

"Loud or excessive noise frightens the wildlife and disturbs visitors who have come to enjoy the natural serenity of the Park. Please do your best to avoid creating such disruptions. Failure to do so will result in punitive fees. 

"Caretakers are directly responsible for the behavior of their offspring and non-sentient companion animals. All non-sentient companion animals must be leashed or otherwise restrained at all times while in the Park. Failure to do so will result in punitive fees. In addition, caretakers are responsible for cleaning up after their pets and offspring. Failure to do so will result in punitive fees..." 

Malcolm felt his eyes start to glaze over as the long litany of regulations continued. This place had more rules than the average maximum-security prison. 

"...do you understand and agree to follow these rules?"

It took Malcolm a moment to realize that the lecture was over. "Um...yes, I believe so," he said, still a little overwhelmed by the torrent of rules and regulations. 

"Then sign here." The ranger thrust the paper at Malcolm, indicating a dotted line with his finger. 

Malcolm hesitated. He wasn't sure signing a piece of paper without knowing exactly what it said was a good idea. Still, Jon had checked this place out and there was a large stack of similar signed papers on the counter so it was probably just a simple routine procedure. 

"May I borrow a pen?" Malcolm asked politely. 

"Souvenir pens are available in the gift shop for twelve krysla each."

"I don't want a souvenir pen. I just need to borrow one for a moment so I can sign this." 

The ranger gave another huff of irritation and then reluctantly handed over a bright green pen that had been bolted to the countertop with a short length of chain. As soon as Malcolm had scrawled his name on the appropriate line, the ranger snatched the pen back as if it were something rare and precious. 

The signed paper was taken, stamped with nearly a dozen brightly colored, official looking seals and then placed with meticulous precision on the top of the stack. 

"That will be thirty krysla," the ranger said. 

Malcolm reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of local currency. He quickly counted out thirty of the small, multicolored metal disks. 

The ranger frowned and recounted the disks with slow exaggeration as if he were certain that Malcolm had shorted him. When the count came up correct, he gave Malcolm a flat insincere smile. "Enjoy your visit to the Northern U'baka Wildlife Preserve and Park." 

"Not bloody likely," Malcolm muttered as he dragged Porthos out the door. 

***

The wide gravel trails meandered pleasantly through the tall pine-like trees. Small patches of melting snow still dotted the forest floor, lending a refreshingly cold tang to the early spring air. The sky above was clear and blue and reminded Malcolm of Earth. 

The conditions were perfect for an afternoon walk, and Malcolm was quite sure that he would be enjoying the experience if it weren't for his canine companion. 

Every tree, bird, and small animal seemed to send Porthos into a frenzy of excitement. Malcolm's arms already felt like they were about to come out of their sockets from Porthos' unremitting yanking and tugging against the lead.

A bright orange and purple bird landed on the path in front of them. Malcolm tightened his grip on the lead and braced himself as Porthos charged forward like a racehorse breaking from the gate. 

It was going to be a very long afternoon. 

***

At first Malcolm was relieved when the tugging on the lead let up for a moment, but then he saw Porthos squat down in an all-too-familiar position. 

"Porthos! No!" he shouted, but it was too late. 

Porthos raked his hind feet in the gravel twice and then went off to sniff at the base of a nearby tree. 

Malcolm stared resentfully at the steaming pile of dog poop. It sat right in the middle of the trail where he couldn't possibly pretend it didn't exist. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he accused. 

Porthos gave him a disdainful look and then went back to sniffing the tree. 

Malcolm gritted his teeth in annoyance. "I am a highly trained Starfleet officer; this is *not* part of my job description," he said, but he knew the problem wasn't going to go away by itself. He fumbled in his pocket for one of the plastic bags Jon had given him and reluctantly slid it over his hand. With a grimace of disgust, he scooped up the still warm pile, pulled the bag over it and tied it off. He quickly located the nearest waste bin and dumped the unpleasant package. 

Malcolm felt a strong urge to wash his hands even though he'd only touched the plastic. Next time he would remember to bring some hand sanitizer - no, better yet, there wasn't going to be a next time. Not ever. The only way he and Porthos would bond was if they fell into a vat of industrial strength adhesive. Jon would just have to get over the whole 'love me, love my dog' thing. 

"I've had enough," Malcolm announced. "We're going to take a little break and then we're going back to the ship." He needed to give his aching arms a rest before they headed back to the Park entrance. 

He dragged Porthos into one of the picnic areas that lay sandwiched between the trail and a small but fast-moving river. The tidy site contained four wooden picnic tables, a communal water pump, and a large display board. 

Malcolm tied Porthos to a tree, making doubly sure that the knot was tight enough that the dog couldn't slip free. As soon as he was free of his canine burden, he stretched to ease the pervasive ache in his arms and shoulders. 

The nearby river provided a loud constant background of white noise. Curious, Malcolm walked over to the edge of the steep bank and peered down at the rushing water. He wondered if the river always ran so high and fast. It looked dangerous. He shuddered slightly and stepped away from the edge of the bank. He had no intention of falling in. 

He wandered over to the display board. There was a map of the park trails on one side and pictures of birds with accompanying text on the other. Malcolm couldn't make heads or tails out of the alien writing, but he had seen several of the birds that were depicted. He was pretty sure he had seen the bright red ones, the orange and purple ones, and the crested yellow ones. He hadn't gotten a really good look at any of them because Porthos had always immediately chased them off. 

Reminded of his unwelcome responsibility, Malcolm glanced over at Porthos, but the dog seemed to be behaving for the moment. He wondered how long it would last. 

Malcolm walked around to the other side of the display board and examined the map. The park trails were quite extensive and crossed over the river in several places. It looked like there were a lot of interesting sites to explore, including several caves and a waterfall.

Maybe he could convince Jon to come down with him for a hike tomorrow - sans Porthos, of course. 

Malcolm's stomach gave a sudden growl, reminding him that it had been a while since he had last eaten. He had planned to eat lunch before coming down to the planet, but between his enjoyable interlude with Jon and the rush to get ready for his excursion with Porthos, there hadn't been time. At least he had remembered to bring a couple of granola bars. 

Malcolm washed his hands at the water pump before unwrapping one of the bars. 

Alerted by the crinkle of the wrapper, Porthos sat up and looked in Malcolm's direction. He barked hopefully. 

Malcolm ignored him and sat down at one of the picnic tables. 

Porthos barked again. 

Malcolm scowled in annoyance. He reached into his pocket and found one of the cheese-flavored dog treats that Jon had insisted that he take. He tossed it over to Porthos. "There," he said. "Happy now?"

Porthos nosed at the treat but didn't eat it. He looked up at Malcolm and gave a sharp whine. 

"Forget it. This is my food," Malcolm said. 

Porthos' lips pulled back in a snarl and he let out a deep rumbling growl. 

"You can't intimidate me, so don't even try." 

Porthos began to bark again. 

Malcolm finished the granola bar and then walked over to the display board to have another look at the laminated map. 

The timbre of Porthos' barks became deeper and more threatening. 

Malcolm did his best to ignore the dog, but before long the incessant noise began to get on his nerves. "Porthos, would you stop..." his voice trailed away when he realized that the dog wasn't even looking at him. Porthos' attention was completely focused on the woods beyond. 

Despite the fact that there was no wind, the underbrush rattled and shook. 

Malcolm felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. 

Something was out there. 

He quickly went over to the tree, untied the lead, and pulled Porthos close to him. "Hush," he said softly. "Let's get out of here." But it was too late. 

Porthos' barks turned into sharp anxious whines as a large pale animal shambled out of the underbrush. It looked a bit like a bear, but not quite - its muzzle was longer than any Earth bear's; its ears were large and triangular; and it had a long thick cone-like tail. 

Despite its size, the creature wasn't in very good condition. Its ribs were plainly visible, and its dirty cream-colored fur was dull and patchy. Malcolm wondered if it was sick or if it had just woken up from a long hibernation. Or perhaps it was just old. In any case, it had a dangerous predatory glint in its narrow yellow eyes. 

Malcolm suddenly wished that he had paid more attention to what Porthos had been trying to tell him. He glanced around the clearing, trying to assess their options. 

It was too late to retreat, and the creature looked too hungry to be bluffed by noise and aggressive posturing. If he had been alone, Malcolm might have been tempted to scramble up into the branches of the nearest tree - the pale beast didn't look like it would be a proficient climber. But no matter how much he disliked dogs, Malcolm wasn't going to leave Porthos to fend for himself. 

Damn it. Why did these sorts of things always happen to him? 

Malcolm's mind raced for a solution. He had no weapon, but the fallen tree branch near his left foot might work in a pinch. If only he could get a hold of it before the creature decided to come at them. He reached down slowly. 

As soon as Malcolm moved, the creature gave a deep pig-like grunt. It rose up onto its hind legs, balancing part of its weight on its heavy muscular tail. The animal suddenly looked much bigger than it had a few seconds ago. 

"Bloody hell," Malcolm whispered. He grabbed the branch. 

The creature let out an angry squeal, dropped back onto all fours, and charged. 

Malcolm was taken off-guard by its speed. Claws grazed across his shoulder, leaving sharp burning pain in their wake. Malcolm yelped and twisted away. Porthos bolted in the opposite direction, pulling the lead from his hand. 

The creature lunged forward with a snarl. It slammed into Malcolm, knocking him to the ground, causing him to lose his grip on his makeshift weapon. 

Malcolm tried to roll away, but the creature pounced on him like a cat on a mouse. Hot fetid breath gusted against his face. He braced his hands against the thing's throat and pushed, holding the jagged teeth at bay. A thick strand of saliva dripped across his cheek. 

Malcolm kicked at the creature's belly in an attempt to distract it but, pinned as he was by the animal's weight, the blow had little force behind it. His arms trembled with fatigue as the deadly teeth inched closer. 

Suddenly, the creature reared back with an agonized roar. Porthos dangled from one of its ears like an absurd oversized earring, his jaws locked fast on the sensitive cartilage. 

Malcolm didn't stop to think. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the tree branch, and rammed it into the creature's exposed stomach.

The creature squalled and jumped away, dropping back down onto all fours. It reached up to bat at Porthos, but before it could connect Porthos let go and fell back down to the ground. 

With a wild yell, Malcolm slammed his makeshift club against the creature's unprotected flank. As the big animal turned on him, Porthos darted in to snap and bite at its hind legs. Confused, the creature whirled back toward the dog, giving Malcolm another clear shot at its flank. 

Porthos moved in to attack again, but the creature was ready this time. It swung its tail in a violent arc. The heavy appendage connected with a solid thump, and sent Porthos sailing through the air. The small dog hit the ground and skidded down the riverbank. 

"Porthos!" Malcolm cried, but there was no time to check on his companion. The creature was advancing on him again. 

"Come on then, you bloody bastard," Malcolm shouted angrily. Adrenaline sang through his veins like a drug as he lunged forward and slammed his makeshift club right across the creature's face. Startled, the big animal fell back. Malcolm followed, hitting it again and again, aiming for its eyes.

The creature shrieked in pain and stumbled away from the onslaught, but Malcolm didn't let up until it turned tail and ran back into the forest. It quickly disappeared into the underbrush. 

Malcolm stared after it, breathing hard. He was pretty sure that it wouldn't be back, but he held onto the tree branch just in case. 

He scanned the forest one last time, searching for any sign of the pale form, and then turned toward the river. "Porthos?" he called as he peered over the edge of the steep bank. 

There was nothing there. 

He searched the ground again. No Porthos. Not even a broken bloody body. Malcolm felt his heart sink. He was pretty sure he knew what had happened - Porthos had landed in the water and had been carried away by the current. 

"Oh, Porthos," he whispered sadly. He carefully slid down the steep bank to stand at the very edge of the river. Water lapped hungrily at the toes of his boots as he stared out at the swirling maelstrom. He let the makeshift club slip out of his hand. It landed in the water and was immediately swept away. Malcolm watched numbly as it disappeared downstream. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that Porthos was gone. 

How was he going to tell Jon? 

Feeling sick, Malcolm climbed back up the bank and began walking downstream. He scanned the banks, looking for any sign of a body. It was probably far downstream by now, but he felt he had to at least try to find Porthos' remains. 

Lost in misery, he almost didn't hear the faint sound over the roar of the river. He stopped. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He froze, every sense on alert, waiting for the sound to come again. Yes! There it was - a faint yelping cry, the kind a dog in distress might make. 

"Porthos!" Malcolm called. "Porthos, where are you?" 

He was answered a few moments later by another yelp. It was difficult to pinpoint the exact location of the sound, but he was certain it had come from downriver. He resisted the urge to break into a run. Porthos was small and would be easy to overlook. He kept walking, searching the banks of the river intently for any sign of the dog.

The next cry sounded very close at hand. Malcolm stopped and scanned the area, but he couldn't see Porthos anywhere. On the far bank a large fallen tree lay half on solid ground, half in the river. Its bare gray branches stuck out of the water like the bones of some long-dead leviathan. 

Something small and yellow sat amid the branches near the water. At first Malcolm thought it was one of the crested birds, but the shape wasn't quite right. 

He frowned and squinted at the bright yellow mass. It wasn't a bird. It was Porthos' nylon lead. It had become tangled in the branches of the deadfall. Malcolm took several steps forward, following the thin line of yellow with his eyes until he found Porthos. All he could see of the dog was his head. 

Porthos bobbed helplessly from the end of the lead like a piece of cork at the end of a fishing line. The snarled lead prevented him from being swept farther downstream, but there was no way he could swim against the fast-moving current to the safety of the deadfall. 

Malcolm watched in horror as the capricious currents suddenly pulled the dog under. 

A few seconds later, Porthos broke the surface with a shrill cry. He paddled furiously to keep his head above the water, but the swirling currents yanked him under again. 

Malcolm knew that Porthos would suffer a slow agonizing death unless he did something soon. He had to find some way to get across the river. He forced himself to think. The map at the picnic area had shown a number of bridges. Where was the closest one? He closed his eyes and tried to remember what he had seen. Upstream. It had been upstream of the picnic area. He couldn't remember exactly how far. 

Malcolm spun on his heel and began running along the bank. If he could get across the river, he could climb out onto the deadfall and pull Porthos in - if the lead didn't give way first... 

Malcolm ran faster, his boots thudding dully on the soft ground. 

In his haste, he didn't notice that part of the bank had eroded, leaving only a thin shelf of soil projecting out over the river. It crumbled out from under his boot as he stepped on it. 

Instinctively, he lunged forward, trying to propel himself back onto solid ground. For a moment, he teetered on the edge of safety, his arms windmilling for balance, but his right foot suddenly slipped out from under him. He bounced once against the steep muddy bank, and then he was in the water. 

Raw panic seized his heart as the current sucked him below the roiling surface. He flailed frantically against the grip of the icy water, but to no avail. The river pulled him deeper, scraping him briefly along its rocky bed. 

Just as suddenly, the fickle water pushed him up to the surface. It granted him barely enough time to draw in a quick gasping breath before dragging him under again.

A strong eddy caught him and spun him around in a nightmare of helplessness. He fought against it, but he was no longer entirely certain which way was up. His lungs ached for air as he struggled to break free of the swirling vortex. Blood roared in his ears and his vision began to dim. His arms and legs began to weaken, and he was sure he was going to die. 

And then, miraculously, he could breathe again. He dragged air into his burning lungs, once, twice, three times, as the river continued to sweep him downstream. 

The oxygen kindled a faint hope of survival in Malcolm's heart. He tried to swim toward the nearest bank, but his arms and legs felt like they were made out of lead. 

The hard earned air whooshed out of his lungs as the river abruptly slammed him into something painfully spiky, but solid. The deadfall! He clutched wildly at the thin branches and tried to pull himself out of the water, but the rotten wood gave way under his weight. 

Water slapped against his face and the treacherous currents threatened to drag him under again. He fought his panic down and reached for the thickest branch he could see. This time he didn't try to use it to climb up, but instead pulled himself along in the water until he could reach another sturdier, thicker branch. He took a deep breath and repeated the process. 

He was nearly to the main trunk of the tree when his cold trembling fingers encountered a tangle of yellow nylon. 

Porthos. He had almost forgotten about Porthos. 

The little dog was still fighting to stay afloat, swimming with a weary desperation, but he was clearly reaching the limits of his endurance. 

There was no time to waste. 

Malcolm made sure his grip on the branch was solid, and then reached out with his other hand to grasp the taut lead. He began to reel Porthos in, being careful not to move too quickly - too much force and he could accidentally pull Porthos under. 

The process seemed to take forever, but finally Malcolm managed to hook his fingers into Porthos' collar. The frightened dog scrabbled wildly against him, trying to climb over him to safety. Blunt claws raked over his shoulder, setting his wounds afire with renewed pain. He knew that trying to restrain the panicked animal could send them both back into the river, so he just gritted his teeth and did his best to aid Porthos' frantic struggles. 

"Come on," he shouted in not so gentle encouragement. "Get up there, damn you!" He tugged at Porthos' collar, urging the dog toward the tree. 

With a final scrambling lunge, Porthos managed to climb over Malcolm and onto the tree trunk. 

"Good boy," Malcolm gasped. 

Porthos whined and licked at Malcolm's cold cramped fingers as if encouraging him to climb. 

"I'm trying," Malcolm said as he groped at the slippery bark of the trunk. He heaved himself partway out of the water and tried to throw his leg over the tree, but the sodden bark began to slough away from under him. He clawed at the bare trunk but could find no purchase on the slimy waterlogged wood. In desperation, he tried to tighten his grip on the jutting branch, but the river was powerful and his numb weary fingers had little strength left in them. 

"No!" he cried as he slid back into the rushing water. He lost his tenuous grip on the branch, and the violent currents spun him away from the safety of the deadfall. 

The last thing he saw before the river swallowed him was Porthos crouched on the deadfall, legs splayed for purchase on the slick wood. The sight filled Malcolm with an odd sense of relief even as the frigid water closed over his head. Porthos was safe. Jon wouldn't lose them both. 

***

Someone was licking his ear. The sensation might have almost been pleasant if his skull didn't feel like it was about to split open. He flapped his hand over his head and the licking stopped. As soon as he dropped his hand it started up again. 

"Quit it, Jon," Malcolm muttered. He tried to move away from the warm wet tongue, but then stilled as a sudden wave of nausea swept through him. Bloody hell. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hung over. What in the world had he been drinking? 

He waited until the queasiness waned to a tolerable level and then forced his eyes open. He closed them almost immediately against the harsh flood of daylight. 

He shifted slightly and felt the ground squelch underneath him. Cautiously, he opened his eyes again. Mud. He was lying on the muddy bank of a rushing river. A sharp bark near his ear caused his memory to come flooding back. 

"Porthos," he mumbled, thankful that the dog was still alive. He started to push himself up with his hands, but a sharp pain shot through his right arm. He collapsed back onto the muddy ground with a low moan. For a time, all he could do was lie there, drawing in the moist, earth-scented air. The intense pain slowly receded into a dull throbbing ache. 

Gritting his teeth, Malcolm rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up on the elbow of his good arm. 

Porthos barked and waved his tail. A short length of frayed yellow nylon still hung from his collar. He had obviously chewed through the lead to free himself from the deadfall. The rest of the lead was probably still tangled in its branches. 

Malcolm sat up, moving slowly in deference to his battered body. A disorienting wave of dizziness washed over him. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his knees until it passed. He reached up and gently touched the back of his head. He wasn't terribly surprised when his fingers encountered a tender swollen lump. 

He looked over at Porthos. "I don't know about you, but I've had more than enough of this place." 

Without the full use of his right arm, it took Malcolm a while to free his communicator from the narrow pocket on his left sleeve. He flipped the device open. "Reed to Archer." There was no answer to his hail. "Reed to Enterprise." Still nothing, only a faint hiss of static. "Reed to anyone?" 

He sighed in defeat and wondered why his communicator never seemed to work when he really needed it. He stared at the alien landscape around him. It all looked the same - trees, brush, rocks, and water. There were no signs of neat gravel trails or bridges or any other civilized landmarks. 

Apprehension stirred in Malcolm's chest. It would be quite a while before he and Porthos were missed by anyone on Enterprise. 

The forest air, which had seemed pleasantly cool earlier, now bit sharply at him through his wet uniform. While none of his injuries were life threatening, his dip in the river had made hypothermia a real danger. And that danger would only worsen as the day wore on and the sun began to set. Malcolm knew he should get up and try to find shelter of some kind, but wandering around aimlessly in an alien forest didn't seem like a very good idea either. 

Porthos licked at his hand. 

Preoccupied by his grim thoughts, Malcolm pushed the dog away. "Quit that," he said absently. 

Porthos limped toward the forest and then paused to look back over his shoulder at Malcolm. He barked once, a sharp demanding sound. 

Malcolm scowled. "Hush, I'm trying to think." 

Porthos came back to him and nipped the back of his hand. 

"Ow!" Malcolm recoiled, pulling his abused hand in close to his chest. "What was that for, you bloody mutt?" 

Porthos hobbled toward the forest once again and then paused as if waiting for Malcolm to follow. 

Malcolm frowned, puzzled by the dog's bizarre behavior. 

Then a faint thought began to take shape at the back of his mind. Weren't dogs supposed to have superior direction sense? "Is that the way back?" he asked. 

Porthos looked at him steadily, but remained silent. 

"Fine. We'll try it your way," Malcolm said. He heaved himself to his feet and then wobbled as his vision began to tunnel in an alarming fashion. He held very still and took deep breaths until it cleared again. 

He took a tentative step forward and winced as his foot came down on something uncomfortably hard and pointed. He blinked and stared at his bootless right foot. 

Great. Just great. His boot must have come off when he was in the river. He could see no sign of it on the nearby riverbank. It was probably gone for good, and his soggy sock would do nothing to protect his foot from the rocks and patches of cold slushy snow and mud. 

Porthos barked firmly as if to remind Malcolm that he was waiting. 

"All right, all right. I'm coming," Malcolm said as he walked gingerly forward. 

***

Malcolm wasn't happy. 

Following the dog had been a very bad idea. If he had been thinking clearly he never would have done it. He should have just walked alongside the river until he found one of the places where the trail crossed it. Once on the trail he would have been able to find one of the display board maps. It was too late to try that strategy now. He had been following Porthos blindly for over an hour and he had no idea how to find the river again. 

To make matters worse, the sun was sliding down toward the horizon. There were only a few hours of daylight left.

"You have no idea where you're going, do you?" Malcolm asked in despair.

Porthos ignored him and continued to push through the underbrush. 

Not sure what else to do, Malcolm trailed along in the dog's wake. 

***

Day was just starting to turn into dusk when he and Porthos emerged from a particularly dense and prickly thicket onto one of the tidy official trails. Malcolm's knees went weak with relief when he saw the visitor's center less than fifty meters ahead. 

"Good boy," he said, reaching down to pet Porthos on the back. "Good boy." 

Porthos wagged his tail and curled his body around to lick at Malcolm's hand. 

"All right now, that's quite enough of that." Malcolm wiped his slobbered-on hand against the leg of his uniform. "Come on. Let's go home." 

As they continued forward, Malcolm heard the bang of a door. A few seconds later he saw the park ranger trotting down the path toward him. 

The ranger came to a halt and stared at the battered pair, his face set in a tight scowl. "There will be many fees," he intoned sternly as he reached down to pull a communicator off of his belt. 

***

Malcolm sat on the bare concrete floor of the holding cell and wondered how much longer it would be before Jon came to bail him out. As far as he could tell he'd been waiting for several hours already. Unfortunately, he couldn't be sure since his chronometer had been confiscated along with the soggy bag of dog treats, his pocketknife, communicator, and remaining boot. He had no idea what had happened to his small hand torch. It had probably been lost to the river. Malcolm sighed. He had really liked that hand torch. It was just the right size to fit in his uniform pocket and it always came in handy on away missions. He would miss it. 

But right now he missed having a working communicator even more. He wished that he could call Jon and find out what the hold up was. He had been allowed to make a single thirty-second call to Jon over the public network for a fee of fifteen krysla, but had been sternly informed that was his call limit for the day.

Most of his remaining local currency had gone to obtain medical care for himself and Porthos. At least he'd had just enough money left over to pay for a private cell, even if it wasn't one of the 'luxury' cells that contained a bunk and toilet facilities. 

Hopefully Jon would come bail them out before the lack of either became a pressing issue. 

Malcolm bit nervously at his lip. Did this society even have a concept of bail? He didn't know. He hadn't even been able to sort out what formal charges were being made against him because the universal translator was acting up. He wasn't sure if it was a problem with the programming or if it was a result of the device being immersed in water for an extended period of time. 

He looked over at his canine cellmate who was lying on the other side of the small room. "You know, I would have been perfectly happy to stay on the ship," he said. 

Porthos glanced up at him and whined reproachfully before dropping his head back onto his bandaged paws. 

Malcolm felt a small stab of shame. "You're right," he said. "That was terribly unfair of me. I apologize." He felt a little stupid apologizing to a dog, but it seemed like the proper thing to do. After all, Porthos had probably saved his life at least twice today. He deserved to be treated like a real crewmate and not just an annoyance to be tolerated for Jon's sake. 

Porthos didn't look up again, but his tail thumped a few times against the cold concrete floor. 

Malcolm decided that the gesture meant his apology had been accepted. "That's very gracious of you," he said, and then frowned and wondered just how badly he had hit his head.   
It still hurt, despite the pain medication the Akathi doctors had given him. 

He sighed and stared down at the lumpy gray plaster cast that covered his right forearm. Like his head, the limb still throbbed with a miserable ache and he was pretty sure that the bones hadn't been set properly. 

Bulky self-adhesive bandages covered the lacerations on his shoulder. The Akathi doctors had wanted to suture the gashes shut with a needle and thread. Considering how advanced the rest of their technology seemed, Malcolm had been surprised that they still used such primitive forms of medicine. 

He had let them clean the wounds with a stinging antiseptic solution, but had refused to let the doctors stitch them up - after all, he was a man not a pair of ripped trousers. 

The thwarted doctors had made him sign a six-page 'refusal of medical treatment' form when it became clear that neither gentle persuasion nor vague threats of poor medical outcomes would change his mind. 

The whole wretched experience was enough to make him appreciate Doctor Phlox and his medical menagerie - well, almost anyway. 

Malcolm tugged the ugly standard-issue prison blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. It was made out of some kind of disagreeably scratchy fiber, but he needed the extra warmth. The cell was cold and his filthy torn uniform still clung to his skin with an unpleasant clamminess. 

He suddenly wondered if Porthos was cold too. The stray thought made him look at his cellmate a little more closely. 

Porthos was curled up in a miserable ball, and every now and then a slight tremor ran through his body. Malcolm felt terrible for not thinking of the dog's comfort sooner. He doubted that the cold concrete floor felt any better to Porthos than it did to him.

"Come on, Porthos. Come here," he called softly. 

Porthos lifted his head and eyed Malcolm warily. 

Malcolm opened the blanket and patted his lap in invitation. "Come on. It's too cold to be at odds with one another. Let's declare a truce."

Porthos wagged his tail once and then crept closer, keeping his belly low to the floor. 

"I'm not going to hurt you." Malcolm reached out toward the dog. "I'm trying to be nice, all right?" He pulled Porthos onto his lap as gently as he could and then tugged the blanket around them both.

Porthos whined softly as he settled against Malcolm's legs. 

"Don't worry," Malcolm said, stroking his hand gently down the dog's back. "I'm sure Jon will come rescue us soon. We'll be home in no time." 

***

The clank of metal on metal drew Malcolm out of an uneasy doze. The heavy cell door swung open and Jon stepped in, followed by Travis. The uniformed guard who had opened the cell remained in the corridor. 

"Jon! Am I glad to see y- oof!" The rest of Malcolm's greeting was lost as Porthos propelled himself out from under the blanket using Malcolm's stomach as a launching pad. 

Despite his bandaged paws, Porthos danced around Jon, waving his tail happily. 

"Hey there boy, what happened to you?" Jon asked as he bent down to pick up Porthos. 

Now that Jon had arrived, Malcolm felt a bit like dancing with joy himself, but his desire to maintain a modicum of dignity and the dull ache of his body quickly dampened the foolish impulse. He pushed the blanket off his shoulders and stood gingerly.

"Are you all right?" Jon asked when he caught sight of the cast on Malcolm's arm. He handed Porthos over to Travis, and stepped forward to get a better look at his battered lover.

Malcolm was warmed by the gentle concern he saw in Jon's eyes. "It's nothing that won't mend," he said. "Please tell me you've come to take us home." 

"Not exactly," Jon replied. "You have to make an appearance in court first."

"Court?" Malcolm asked, his eyes widening in alarm. 

"Don't worry. It's just a formality. According to the Vulcan database, the Akathi almost never imprison people for misdemeanors."

Malcolm wasn't comforted by the phrase 'almost never'. 'Never' would have been much more reassuring. 

"Travis," Jon said, "would you please take Porthos back to the shuttlepod. We'll join you as soon as we get this mess settled."

"Sure thing, Captain," Travis said. "And don't worry - I'll take good care of him." 

"Why doesn't Porthos have to appear in court?" Malcolm asked petulantly as Travis carried the dog away. It didn't seem fair that his partner in unwitting crime was going to get off scot-free. 

Jon gave Malcolm a puzzled look. "For the same reason he wouldn't have to go to court on Earth - he's not considered sentient."

"Oh, yes, of course." Malcolm said. He wondered why the obvious explanation hadn't occurred to him before. "Lucky dog." 

"We should get moving," Jon said. "If we're late, we'll be fined." 

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised? Do we at least have time to find a lavatory so I can clean up a little?" He gestured at his filthy uniform. 

"I'm sorry, Malcolm, but I think we'd better go straight to the courtroom. Your hearing starts in less than ten minutes."

"That's cutting things a bit close don't you think?" 

"Well, it was either that or tomorrow morning, and I didn't think you wanted to spend the night in jail." 

Malcolm glanced around the cold barren cell and shuddered at the thought. "Right," he said as he followed Jon out into the hallway. 

*** 

Hoshi met them outside the courtroom doors. "Hurry, the previous hearing just ended." She held the door open and urged them into the large room with a wave of her hand before following. 

A uniformed official, who Malcolm took to be a bailiff of some sort, directed them to stand on a low circular dais in the middle of the room. 

At the front of the room, three judges sat behind a tall horseshoe-shaped desk. The two judges on the sides wore bright blue jackets with orange piping while the one in the middle was clad in brilliant fuchsia robes trimmed with acid green braid. The clashing colors reminded Malcolm of the hideous Hawaiian shirts Trip was so fond of wearing. 

Several long minutes passed in silence. Malcolm shifted nervously. The dais was cold under his feet. "What now?" he asked finally, careful to keep his voice low. 

"I don't know," Jon replied with an anxious shrug. "I guess we wait." 

Time trickled by uneasily. Malcolm was about to speak again when a loud buzz reverberated throughout the courtroom. The three humans jumped, startled by the sudden sound. 

"The court will now hear the State's evidence against the defendant," the bailiff announced in a loud booming voice. 

A small side door near the front of the room opened and several people entered. Malcolm recognized the park ranger and one of the doctors who had treated him at the hospital. He wasn't sure who the other two were. The small group lined up behind a narrow table that rested just in front of the judges' desk. 

The park ranger began to speak, but Malcolm was too far away to hear everything that was being said. He was only able to catch about one word in five. 

Hoshi leaned forward slightly, listening intently to the torrent of words. 

"What's he saying?" Malcolm asked. He knew her hearing was far superior to his own. 

"Shhh," Hoshi held up her hand to forestall any more questions. "He's giving his testimony."

Malcolm ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to know what was going on. 

A few moments later, the ranger produced a familiar piece of paper out of a file box. Numerous colorful seals adorned its glossy surface. 

Malcolm resisted the urge to curse aloud as the bailiff handed it up to the judges. He should have known that sodding piece of paper would come back to haunt him. He never should have signed it, but was too late to do anything about it now. 

The ranger continued to speak while the judges inspected the signed paper. 

Malcolm watched the proceedings with growing irritation. He was the defendant. Didn't he have the right to know what the witnesses were saying about him and his conduct? 

As he watched, a small Plexiglas box was handed up to the judges. He had no idea what was in it or why it was being introduced as evidence against him, or if it was even evidence at all. He had no idea what was going on. 

He did recognize the next items that were held up. One of the black Starfleet-regulation boots rested inside of an evidence bag, while the other sported a bright blue tag. The bagged boot was handed up to the judges. Even from a distance it looked a little soggy and worse for wear. A moment later, the blue-tagged boot was handed up as well. One of the judges held the two pieces of footwear up side by side, apparently comparing them to each other. 

"They found my boot," Malcolm commented happily. "I thought it was gone for good."

His words earned him a sharp "hush" from Hoshi, but he didn't care. He hadn't been looking forward to trying to requisition yet another pair of boots from the quartermaster's stores. The quartermaster was nearly as temperamental as Chef, and she often accused Malcolm of deliberately going out of his way to ruin his uniforms. 

Malcolm thought it was an absolutely ridiculous charge. It wasn't as though he *tried* to get his uniforms torn up, covered in blood, or spattered with toxic waste. It was simply an unavoidable occupational hazard. And besides, the toxic waste incident had been Trip's fault. If he hadn't - 

Another loud buzz resounded through the room, interrupting his rambling thoughts. Startled, he looked up. 

The witnesses were already starting to file out of the room. Malcolm felt a stab of anxiety when he noticed that the park ranger had a particularly smug and satisfied look on his face. That didn't bode well. 

"The court will now inform the defendant of the charges laid against him," the bailiff announced. His loud voice carried throughout the large room. "Charge number one: straying from designated Park trails."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry about that," Malcolm said, "but it took us a while to find the trail again after we..." He fell silent under the weight of the combined glares of the judges. Apparently now was not the time to try to defend his actions. 

The bailiff gave a humming growl of disapproval before continuing, "Charge number two: allowing a non-sentient companion animal to run unrestrained within the confines of the Park."

Malcolm frowned. He hadn't exactly planned on letting Porthos run around without a lead, but he decided it was best to remain silent. 

"Charge number three: disturbing the resident wildlife of the Park." 

"Disturbing the wildlife!" Malcolm cried indignantly. "We didn't disturb anything. That creature attacked us! It was obviously-" 

"The defendant will please restrain himself," the middle judge said, fixing Malcolm with a cold stare. 

Malcolm subsided into a sullen silence. He couldn't believe that he was being blamed for the attack. It was completely unreasonable. 

"Charge number four: littering within the confines of the Park." 

"Littering?" Malcolm echoed in confusion. "But I didn't -" 

A cautioning hand fell on his arm and he turned to look at Hoshi. 

"Your boot," she said softly, glancing down at Malcolm's shoeless feet. "Apparently one of the rangers found it along the river bank." 

"But...but..." Malcolm sputtered. It wasn't fair. He hadn't *meant* to lose his boot. It had just happened. 

"Let it go, Malcolm," Jon whispered soothingly in his ear. "It doesn't matter."

"I still don't think it should count," Malcolm muttered under his breath.

The bailiff gave their group a hard look before continuing, "Charge number five: swimming in Park waterways without a permit." 

"It was an emergency," Malcolm protested. "Porthos would have drowned if I hadn't -" 

The judges hummed in a chorus of disapproval. 

Jon placed a restraining hand on Malcolm's uninjured shoulder. "Malcolm, please don't antagonize them." 

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest, a move made awkward by the lumpy cast, and scowled at the floor. 

"Charge number six: unauthorized collection of a biological specimen from within the Park."

"Specimen? What specimen?" Malcolm turned to Hoshi for clarification. 

"In his testimony, the ranger said you had some kind of river snail in your possession," Hoshi explained.

Malcolm frowned. He had a vague memory of the park ranger picking something brown and slimy off of his uniform as he and Porthos were being herded back into the visitor's center to await the arrival of the police. He hadn't realized at the time that the brown slimy thing had been a living creature.

Maybe that was what had been in the Plexiglas box. 

"Oh, yes, the snail," Malcolm said caustically. "How could I have forgotten the snail?" 

He wanted to explain to the judges that the snail had been a stowaway and that he hadn't knowingly aided its escape from the river, but he knew that he would just be wasting his breath. The whole proceeding was becoming increasingly surreal, and he was beginning to feel like Alice trying to defend herself in front of the Red Queen's court. 

"Off with his head," he muttered and then quickly suppressed the insane urge to giggle. 

"Easy, Malcolm," Jon whispered into his ear. 

Malcolm sighed and struggled to control himself. 

"Does the defendant wish to dispute any of these charges?" the middle judge asked. 

Malcolm opened his mouth to say 'yes', but before he could speak, Jon nudged him hard in the side. 

Malcolm glared at him and rubbed at his sore ribs. "No ma'am," he said grudgingly. 

"Very well, you are hereby fined a sum of eight hundred and eighty-seven krysla, payable immediately. Once the bailiff has collected your fine, you are free to go. If for any reason you are unable to pay your fine, an equivalent jail sentence will be determined."

Malcolm was stunned by the amount of the fine - it seemed obscenely high given that most of what had happened had been completely unintentional on his part. He turned toward Jon. "Please tell me you have enough cash to get me out of here," he said.

Jon smiled, but there was a nervous edge to the expression. "I wasn't expecting the fine to be so high." He glanced over at Hoshi. "Do you have any currency with you?" 

"I think I have a little left over from my trip to the market yesterday," she said as she dug into her uniform pocket. 

The bailiff ushered them over to the small accounting table at the side of the room. 

Malcolm watched anxiously as Jon and Hoshi pooled their money and began counting out the small disks under the watchful eye of the bailiff. 

***

"...eighty-four, eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven." Jon smiled in relief as he placed the last disk on the table. "There we go - eight hundred and eighty-seven krysla." 

The bailiff carefully recounted the disks, swept them into a large cloth bag, and then fastened the bag shut with an official-looking ribbon and a soft lead seal. He solemnly typed some information into his datapadd and handed a printed receipt to Jon. 

The bulging bag was whisked away by another court official. 

"I guess that's that," Jon said, relief clear on his face. He put his arm around Malcolm and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "Let's go home." 

The three Akathi judges squawked in indignation. 

"There will be an additional fee of fifty krysla," the bailiff said as he advanced on them.

"I don't understand," Jon said. "Did we do something wrong?"

"You are guilty of contempt," the fuchsia-robed judge said frostily. "This is a court of law, not a common pleasure house. One's actions in these sacred halls of order must reflect the solemnity of the institution at all times." 

"Oh, of course. Um, please accept our deepest apologies," Jon said. He exchanged a rueful glance with Malcolm and then glared at Hoshi who was biting her lip in an effort not to laugh. 

The bailiff was already tapping away at his datapadd. 

Jon opened the sadly depleted krysla pouch and counted out fifty of the thin disks. 

The bailiff pushed them into a small bag, sealed it, and then typed some more information into his datapadd. The machine whirred and clicked and spat out another receipt. 

Jon accepted it with a strained smile. "Are we free to go now?" he asked the bailiff. 

"Yes. You may pick up the ex-prisoner's personal effects at the desk out front."

Jon nodded his thanks to the bailiff, forgetting that the gesture would probably mean nothing to the alien, and then turned to Malcolm and Hoshi. "Let's get out of here. I'm almost completely out of currency. If we mess up again we'll have to call T'Pol or Trip to bail us out." 

"Perish the thought," Malcolm muttered. 

They quickly exited the courtroom and located the front desk. The man behind it inspected their receipts and then produced a labeled box from one of the numerous shelves behind the desk. Malcolm's belongings were inside, all neatly identified with blue tags. 

"Wait a minute," Malcolm said as he looked through the box to make sure everything was there. "There's only one boot in here. Where's my other boot?" 

"Other boot?" the man behind the desk said as if he didn't understand what Malcolm was talking about. 

Hoshi stepped forward. "Let me try." 

Malcolm was too tired to even try to follow the rapid conversation that ensued. 

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Hoshi said as she turned away from the man. "All items entered into evidence become the property of the State. You won't be able to get your boot back." 

"Oh, no," Malcolm moaned in despair, "this can't be happening." It would take him forever to pry a new pair of boots out of the quartermaster's stores. 

Jon gave him a sympathetic look. "Come on, let's just go home. We'll worry about boots later." 

Malcolm nodded in defeat and allowed Jon to lead him out of the courthouse. 

***

Malcolm heard, but didn't really feel, the bones of his forearm snap back into their proper place. Whatever Phlox had given him to dull the pain was working extremely well - maybe a bit too well. The pain had been helping him stay alert, but now he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. 

A warm hand rubbed lightly over his knee. "Malcolm, are you still with us?" 

Malcolm blinked and looked up at Jon. "Yes, still here," he replied with a faint smile. 

The excessively protective way Jon was hovering over him was hardly very discreet, but then again discretion had already been shot to hell seeing as how it had been Jon who had helped him get showered and dressed in the small sickbay lavatory. And it really didn't help that the over-sized red sweatshirt he was currently wearing had the word 'Stanford' emblazoned across it in large white letters. And there had been that kiss in the courtroom... 

Discretion had definitely been shot to hell, but for some reason Malcolm wasn't overly concerned that he and Jon were operating well outside of their usual code of public conduct. 

He watched with detached interest as Phlox injected his wrist with a drug that would encourage the bones to heal. He felt a vague twinge of discomfort as the long needle sank through the muscles of his forearm, but even that minor pain was transitory. 

Phlox then slathered a sharp smelling ointment over the bruised flesh and encased Malcolm's wrist in a durable waterproof plastic cast. 

"You're off duty until those bones heal - seven days minimum," Phlox said firmly. 

"Fine." Malcolm was too tired to argue for an earlier return to work. Besides, it would probably take at least that long to get a hold of a new pair of boots. "May I go now?" he asked. 

"I would prefer to keep you here overnight," Phlox replied. "You need to rest." 

"I can rest in my quarters just as easily as I can here," Malcolm protested. In truth, he didn't want to go back to his own quarters any more than he wanted to stay in sickbay. He wanted to curl up in the familiar comfort of Jon's bed, but there was no way he was going to admit as much to the nosy alien physician. Discretion may have been shot to hell but it wasn't completely dead yet. 

Phlox frowned and gave Jon a significant look. 

"I'll make sure he rests," Jon said. "Porthos too," he added, glancing fondly at the small dog who dozed quietly on a nearby biobed. 

"Very well, Captain," Phlox said. "I release my patients to you, but I expect them both to come back for a check-up first thing tomorrow morning."

"No problem," Jon replied. He reached out and tugged the sleeve of Malcolm's borrowed sweatshirt over the cast and then planted a gentle kiss against Malcolm's temple. 

Malcolm sighed. Discretion, it seemed, had given up the ghost without so much as a whimper. He decided it was far too late to try to resurrect it, so he simply leaned into the comforting contact. 

*** 

Malcolm sat heavily on the edge of the bed and waited in vain for the room to stop spinning. The walk from sickbay to Jon's quarters had taken a lot more energy than he had anticipated. 

Jon gently placed Porthos on the dog bed and then knelt down to pull Malcolm's shoes off. 

Malcolm watched groggily but didn't protest the assistance. He was too tired to do it himself. 

"Lie down," Jon said. 

Malcolm didn't need to be told twice. He flopped back onto the pillows, too drained to do anything else. 

"I'll join you in a minute," Jon said as he draped the blankets over his exhausted lover.

Malcolm made a wordless noise of agreement and closed his eyes. 

He must have drifted off for a bit because the next thing he was aware of was the warm press of Jon's body against his own. 

Malcolm moved a little closer and buried his face against Jon's shoulder, breathing in the other man's familiar scent. Hands stroked soothingly over his back and he relaxed under the touch. He was home. 

"Are you okay?" Jon asked softly. 

"For now," Malcolm replied. Exhaustion was dulling his reactions, but he knew that the sheer terror of the day would eventually catch up to him. He also knew that Jon would be there for him when it did. 

Jon kissed him. "Go back to sleep, Malcolm." 

"All right," Malcolm murmured. 

The mattress dipped slightly as Porthos jumped up onto the foot of the bed. 

"Down, Porthos," Jon said. He knew that Malcolm didn't like having the dog in bed with them. 

"No, let him stay," Malcolm said, his voice slurring with fatigue.

Jon looked at Malcolm in surprise. "Are you sure?" 

"It's been a hard day for all of us," Malcolm said. "He deserves a little comfort too." 

Porthos thumped his tail against the bedding in agreement and then curled up in a tight ball behind Jon's knees.

Jon smiled. "I guess you two did some bonding after all." 

Malcolm mumbled something unintelligible about a truce and burrowed deeper into Jon's embrace. 

Within moments, he was sound asleep. 

***

Porthos woke in the middle of the night feeling quite refreshed. The humans beside him were still asleep. How very boring of them. He would just have to amuse himself until they woke. He jumped to the floor and shook himself. His collar jingled loudly with the motion, but neither human stirred. 

Porthos nosed along the deck, looking for something to get into. He encountered a pair of running shoes lying carelessly on the floor. A quick sniff told him they belonged to Malcolm. He opened his mouth in a grin of delight. It had been a while since such an excellent opportunity for mischief had presented itself.

He hiked his leg, aiming directly at the shoes, but then hesitated. With a regretful sigh, he let his leg drop back down. 

Malcolm was annoying, but Porthos had to admit that he was finally starting to act like a proper pack mate. 

And besides, a truce was a truce. 

 

The End


End file.
